I often think about my death. The day will come like any other, and it will be my last.

I don’t know how I’ll die; I could be lying in my bed with my old age weighing down on me, and my final breath will escape me. My body will be put into a casket, a hole will be dug, and I’ll be lowered into my grave, where I’ll remain forever.

I’m not ready to die just yet. I still want to live out all my dreams and experience the world. Yet when I think about death, I can’t help but wonder: will anyone come to my funeral? Will anyone cry?

The truth is I don’t think my death will really affect anyone, maybe my parents if they outlive me. Perhaps my sister will cry for a night as she remembers me.

But will anyone truly care that I’m gone?

People will move on eventually, continue living their lives as though I never existed. If I’m lucky, they’ll think about me occasionally, smile at the dozen random selfies I took on their phone. But it will only last a few moments.

Then gone. Just like me.

I think that’s the real tragedy that comes in the aftermath of death. Of course, it’s normal. I can’t expect someone to be so overtaken by grief that they can’t do anything else. I wouldn’t want that either.

I just wish I had one person that will remember me, that will visit my grave to leave flowers and talk to me after a long day. As though I’m still a source of comfort to them beyond the grave.

Who knew my laugh and the small dimple that appears when I smile
Who knew my biggest fears
Who knew how I take my coffee
Who remembered the sound of my voice
Who knew the parts of me that I’m scared to share with the rest of the world

I don’t want to be another name in the graveyard, at least not yet.

I don’t want to be remembered by anyone.
I want to be remembered by someone.
Even if it’s temporary.
Even if in a few years they’ll be gone just like me.

The Weight of Being Remembered

How do you want the world to remember you?

It’s a common question I get asked a lot. And as a child, people would always ask, “Who do you want to be when you grow up?” The question feels like a heavy weight on my chest. As though deciding who I become directly affects how I’ll be remembered. The life I live will fade away unless I leave a scar.

I just want my life to matter to me, not to everyone else. I don’t want to be limited; I don’t want my life to be defined by a single moment. I don’t want my story to be bound by my career, or my achievements, or my failures. I want my life to feel infinite, not for anyone else, but for me.

People throughout history have cemented themselves in time. The athletes, the artists, the politicians, even the serial killers. They all left their mark, some in beautiful ways, some in horrific ways. History finds a way to remember the good and the bad. As though being good was never a requirement for being memorable.

Do I want history to remember me, if in doing so it means I have to lose a piece of myself? I feel like a puzzle, waiting to be picked off the ground and torn apart till they find something wrong. They’ll try to piece me together, but they’ll never see the complete picture.

Maybe I don’t want to be. Maybe I don’t want my story to be set in stone. This doesn’t mean I don’t want to accomplish great things. It just means that I don’t want my name to appear in a textbook. I don’t want some kid dressing up as me for Halloween. I want to remain a quiet mystery. Never truly forgotten yet never fully known.

And when it’s all said and done, I want someone to stumble upon my grave a hundred years from now and wonder, “Who was she?” “What’s her story?” “What kind of life did she live?”

A thousand possibilities.

I’m not over you

I really thought I was. I convinced myself that I was okay. That I had made peace with the way things ended and I was ready to move on. 

But I still keep thinking about you
You’re still the person I want to call when something happens

The one that comes to mind when I come up with a ridiculous dad joke. 
You’d laugh and call me a goofball

I think of you more than I should. I imagine what it would be like if we were still together

The meaningful conversations, the late drives, the 2 am snack runs to Buc-ees

I’d change the thermostat to 67 degrees so we can laugh like we’re kids
I’d bake those brownie cookies for you, the ones you loved
I’d say I’ll be right back on call, and when I returned, you would say “welcome back.”

I just really wanted it to be you. I wanted you to be my person

And when I discovered you had moved on, a piece of me felt broken
Not because I thought we’d get back together, but because the version of us that I kept replaying in my mind was gone

No matter how hard I try, I can’t forget the time we spent together. 
The inside jokes, the quiet moments, the future we planned for ourselves
Where we fulfilled our couple’s bucket list

Where our wedding colors were green and gold; now you’ll wear those colors with someone else
Where we pushed each other through the early morning workouts
Where we traveled to Africa, returning to your hometown after a decade

I keep telling myself it’s okay
Pretend like it doesn’t hurt me anymore
Pretend like I never wanted it anyway when it’s the only thing I still think about
I wish I could forget about all the good moments. Erase them from my mind completely. 

But sometimes I still find myself checking my phone whenever I get a notification, secretly hoping it’s from you.
And then that split second disappears.
I remember that you’re not on the other end anymore.

He’s still a great guy
I find myself defending him again
He’s still a great guy
Everyone around me keeps saying it too
He’s still a great guy
He just wasn’t the right guy for you
And it’s true he wasn’t

There was a time when I thought he was
He was different
He knew which buttons to push to make me smile
With his sweet good morning texts 
And the more we talked, the less afraid I became
I could be myself around him.
And the words repeat inside
He’s still a great guy

But every time I hear someone say it, I find myself wondering why they constantly have to defend him
The thing is, I know. I know the person he is. I know deep down he’s a good person
I’ve seen how hard he works when he’s tired, the way he cares about his mother when she’s sick, and how he gets a milkshake for his sister when she’s just had her wisdom teeth removed.
That’s the kind of guy he is
But why do they have to keep reminding me
Why does a small part of me agree with them
Why can’t he be a terrible person

I admit I find myself pointing out his flaws now that he’s no longer in my life
I know a deeper version of him
I’ve seen parts of him that other people never do.
How he disappears for a couple of days without any explanation. And when I tried to bring it up he’d brush it off: “We don’t need to talk every day.”
I hoped we would
How he once asked me if I’d cry if he broke up with me. Of course I would. What kind of question is that?
Then about a month later he said he had no doubts. He even went so far as to ask me what kind of ring I want
He wrote in a letter once, “You’re my right person, my right time, and you mean more to me than I say out loud”
At the end, he disappeared for four days 
When I got mad at him for it he said he didn’t even realize it had been that long. He promised to call more often.
He broke up with me on the next call 

Somehow, he moved on so easily 
While I’m still recovering 
And not just with anyone. 
He tried to match with one of my best friends on a dating app 
Poisoning all the happy memories with him 
As though he doesn’t care about the pieces of my life that I shared with him
Thankfully, I still get to keep my friend
She refused to match back 

Yet I still find ways to defend him. 
Keep telling myself that he’s a good guy
It makes me angry when other people say it
And it makes me even angrier when a part of me keeps trying to find excuses
Maybe he is an amazing guy
Maybe he only acted that way because he never had true feelings for me.
He could’ve been trying to convince himself 
I’ll never know
It doesn’t mean he’s a villain.
Though it’d be easier if he were

And when my brother said, “I haven’t heard one bad thing about him,” the anger erupted within me
Of course you haven’t
Why would you?
No one knows him the way I do
Everyone gets to keep their versions of him
His family
His friends
Even my own brother
And yet
I’ll be the only one to know this version of him
The version that he was with me

I was happy for her, or at least I told myself I was. We always dreamed about our weddings, joked about marrying two cute best friends, and promised to be each other’s maid of honor. She was my go-to person. The only one I felt comfortable sharing every side of myself with. The dramatic, slightly chaotic, and sarcastically funny parts of me that I didn’t share with the rest of the world. She was the Christina to my Meredith.

Now here I was finding out about her wedding through an Instagram story, like a stranger peering in on her life.

I messaged her to say congratulations. Then I wondered if she would have done the same for me. I was always going to invite her to my wedding. After all, she was supposed to be standing at the altar with me. She was always supposed to be in my future, even when the distance felt heavy.

I lay in bed that night reading our recent conversations.

Me: hey how’s it going?
Her: good!

Me: hi it’s been a while what’s new?
Her: Not much just the usual

Me: hii, congratulations on graduating. I’m so proud of you
Her: thank you!

Me: hi omg congratulations on your wedding
Her: awe, thank you!
Me: I literally had no idea you were getting married
Her: haha yeah.

I stared at that final message, waiting for more to come.

I was hoping she would apologize for not inviting me or, at the very least, have an excuse ready.

But she didn’t.

And my heart broke.

Not in the way most people would expect. Heartbreak is usually associated with the end of a romantic relationship, but no one ever talks about the heartbreak that comes from the end of a friendship that once meant the world to you.

I continued to read through our older messages, revisited hours of conversations filled with inside jokes that only we understood, unfiltered rants, and the unwavering bond of a friendship that was always meant to last.

Then it stopped.

There were no arguments, no drama, just silence.

A small part of me wishes there was a fight. At least I could live with that explanation.

That will always be the worst part. Not knowing what went wrong. She just stopped trying one day. Stopped messaging me at 3 a.m. to complain about the work she procrastinated on. I reached out as much as I could over the years. Hoping things would go back to normal. All I ever got was short responses.

I considered every possible reason. Maybe I was being too overbearing, and she found it annoying when I kept bringing up that one guy I had a crush on. Maybe she just didn’t need my friendship anymore.

I cried about it to my sister once. She said, “You outgrew each other.” But I never outgrew her. She outgrew me.

I try pretending like nothing changed. Convinced myself that she was busy and just forgot to respond. We’re friends; we don’t need to talk every day.

Then the anger hits. Why do I keep bothering to reach out to her when she doesn’t care? She doesn’t want to be friends anymore. Where’s my self-respect?

But still, a small part of me still hopes our friendship can be saved.

What if we see each other and our friendship picks back up like it never ended? After all, aren’t true friends the ones that can pick up where they left off no matter how much time or distance has passed?

That’s when the sadness comes. My heart feels heavy as I revisit all our memories. Looking at the dozens of pictures we took in Dubai in front of the Burj Khalifa and the time we celebrated my nephew’s first birthday together.

It’s all just a distant memory now.

I never wanted to accept the ending. I was left with no choice. It doesn’t matter how many times I reach out, we’re too far gone.

I was once so convinced that we’d be by each other’s sides through all the major milestones. Our graduations, our first jobs, our weddings, the birth of our children.

Now I’m left watching on the sidelines. As she lives her life without me and hangs out with her friends. I used to be one of them.

I wonder if she ever remembered our promise to each other. Did I cross her mind as she prepared for one of the biggest days of her life? Does she think about the dreams we always held? The faith we had in each other. That we’d always be there to share our biggest fears and celebrate our happiest moments.

I wonder if she even realized our friendship was fading away. If she ever stayed awake at night mourning our loss like I still do. Maybe it is my fault; I’ll never know.

I knew the friendship was over long before I could say it out loud.

There was no goodbye. No closure. Just two people drifting away until one day they became strangers.

Strangers with memories and no future left to hold onto.

It will happen in time

It’ll work out when it’s meant to

Everything will fall into place

It takes time

For everyone

Does it though?

It seems like they have it all

Like I’m the only one

Left behind

Like a stranger

Watching from afar

Enveloped in the darkness

Unable to see the light

Waiting

Wanting it to be my turn

Will it ever come?

Or remain

Unanswered?

How long must I wait?

I may never know

My patience is slipping away

I want it all

And I want it now

Be patient, they say

Be strong

My strength is weak

My hopes are low

I want it all

And I want it now

Be patient

It’s easy for them to say

They never had to wait long

The threads fall into place

For them

Even the ones I hold close

But never for me

It seems I’m unlucky

Stuck in a constant loop

Of longing

Waiting for the day

Two pieces of a soul

Come together

Or remain

A deafening maybe

Then one day in 2019, my brother kept insisting that I make an account. Told me it’s a great way to connect with people and keep up with what was going on around the world.

At first it was fun.

I followed my favorite celebrities

Spent way too much time trying out filters

Laughed at the most random memes

And even began posting pictures of myself.

But over time the fun began to slip away.

I began checking my follower count every day.

I got offended when someone didn’t like my post.

And I opened my story over and over again hoping that the guy I liked viewed it.

It took me a long time to realize that rather than using Instagram, Instagram was starting to use me.

When I woke up this morning a sudden realization came to me that 2019 was seven years ago.

There has not been a single day in the last seven years where I haven’t opened Instagram at least once in the day. Crazy right?

Those seven years flew by and somewhere along the way I grew up.

I finished high school

went to university

completed my degree

worked random part time jobs

but the one thing that remained consistent was Instagram.

I would try to deny it. Say that I don’t use the app that much. Pretend like it’s just there on my phone, and I have enough self-control to not use it daily. But that would be a lie.

I’d fallen into the trap.

The first thing I do in the morning is check Instagram.

The last thing I do before bed is scroll.

I tried to break the habit, even attempted to fully distance myself from it.

I set a daily time limit on the app and asked my sister to make the screen time password so I wouldn’t be tempted to go above the limit.

But it just made the obsession worse as I found myself feeling anxious watching the time come to an end.

I once found myself scrolling well past midnight. As I watched reel after reel, the time lapsed and suddenly I got the 5 minute warning.

I immediately opened WhatsApp and messaged my sister, begging her to give up the password.

A few months later, a sudden burst of determination led me to delete Instagram altogether. This lasted 2 hours… and I was downloading the app again. Telling myself I’d delete it again in a few minutes.

I keep telling myself that Instagram is not all that bad. It really has allowed me to reconnect with friends and family from around the world. I started sharing my photography and made a separate account to share my poems.

Then my feed began to fill up with those “day in the life” reels. I was watching other people build lives for themselves.

A girl whose cookie business sold out every week.

A girl who started a snail mail club and somehow shipped over a thousand letters a month.

A girl making handmade scrunchies from her bedroom and turning it into a real business.

Meanwhile, I was the girl behind the screen.

Watching their routines

Watching their progress

Watching their success

Dreaming that one day it would be me.

Hoping that a switch would turn on and I’d somehow find the courage to turn away from the screen and focus on creating something meaningful for myself.

And I realized that these things were all just excuses.

I tried to play it off, convinced myself that I was looking for inspiration.

But at what point do I stop looking for gratification from other people and start seeking it for myself?

She remembers meeting him for the first time as he walked into her house, his tall frame, black glasses, and sweet smile taking her breath away.

Butterflies would churn in her stomach every time she saw him. She always noticed the way his face would morph into the most contagious smile.

They bonded over competitive board games, each trying to beat the other. She felt an instant connection; he was so easy to talk to and laugh with.

She remembers their trip to the beach, and as they kayaked through the ocean waves, she felt her heart racing at the playful gleam that appeared in his eyes as he used his paddle to splash her.

She remembers traveling with him. Spending hours together in the busiest airport in the world. She remembers the feeling of him walking beside her and telling her his deepest thoughts.

The time flew by far too quickly for her liking. Before she knew it, they were parting ways, each boarding a different flight. There was a sadness looming in her chest, but there was also hope. Hope that he may feel the same way.

She remembers returning home and missing his presence. She remembers their long messages and silly debates. She remembers thinking to herself, “This is it. It’s time to tell him how you feel.”

Without really thinking it through, she found herself typing out the message. Her heart sped up as she hit send, and she waited in anticipation for his response.

When it finally came, she felt the tears blurring her eyes. She sobbed into her pillow that night. The pain felt unbearable in that moment, and worst of all, she felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at the prospect of seeing him again.

The days dragged into months. She tried her hardest to move on. It was pointless. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get him out of her head. What was she going to do?

She remembers the awkward tension when they finally met again months later. The meeting was inevitable.

She remembers the random eye contact they would make, the faint smile he gave her when she walked past him.

She felt an ounce of hope return. Maybe he’s starting to feel the same way.

And so she messaged him again. The conversations resumed as though the last few months had never happened. This isn’t so bad, she thought, at least we can be friends.

She remembers meeting him in Paris. She was captivated by the beauty of the city. She couldn’t believe she was in the city of love, and he was there with her.

She remembers the journey to the top of the Eiffel Tower. She remembers being photographed by him. She remembers the endless teasing and the inside jokes they shared.

Then out of nowhere, as they took the elevator back down, he spoke about another. He spoke so loudly and clearly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

In that moment, she felt her heart break.

She had to turn away from him so he wouldn’t see the tears stinging her eyes.

It wasn’t even what he said. It was the fact that he said it in front of her with complete disregard for her feelings.

His words echoed in her ears over and over again, a cruel reminder that everything she longed for was unattainable.

She remembers thinking, “If he truly loved me, he wouldn’t have said what he said on top of the Eiffel Tower.”

And yet, somehow, all around her, the city of love continued to shine.

Subscribe now

I’m starting a new series called Random Obsessions, where I write about the things I’m currently obsessing over.

So naturally, I thought I’d start with Mount Everest. Yep, you guessed it, the tallest mountain in the world.

It all began a couple of years ago. I was scrolling on Instagram, as one does, and found this girl who was posting about trekking to Everest Base Camp, which I thought was the coolest thing ever. For the next several days, I excessively stalked her page waiting for updates.

After that, I started doing my own research on this treacherous mountain.

I watched the movie “Everest,” which follows the expeditions led by Rob Hall and Scott Fischer and the night that ended in tragedy. The hikers were caught in a massive snowstorm, which resulted in the deaths of nine climbers, including the legendary Rob Hall himself.

Which, by the way, is based on a true story.

Then I started wondering about all the other people who died while attempting to climb Everest. Those mountaineers who all had the same goal: to summit the largest peak in the world.

And of course, most of their bodies get left behind because bringing them back down is too dangerous.

The frozen bodies end up becoming landmarks for the other hikers.

Can you imagine? Climbing up to Camp 4, aka the death zone, and seeing a body right in front of you. Knowing that person was just as ambitious as you are. Knowing they were attempting the exact same thing you’re attempting now.

It makes me wonder why people would take such a crazy risk. Oh, and I can’t forget the ones who attempt to climb without any oxygen.

But then I also think about the people who do make it to the top and survive to tell the story. The satisfaction they must feel, knowing that all the years of training, physical and mental exhaustion, and pure grit led them to that moment where they’re standing on top of the world. And the best part is they always have a story to tell at dinner parties. Forget small talk. Tell me about the time you nearly fell into a crevasse.

There’s an extremely delusional part of my brain that says I can do it too. I can totally climb Mount Everest.

Then, of course, the more realistic part of my brain says don’t be ridiculous, you’d die in 10 minutes.

Subscribe now

But despite the original adversity, the brownies turned out surprisingly good, and everyone liked them. By everyone, I mean my family.

That’s when I decided I enjoyed baking so I tried out a few different brownie recipes. I made Oreo brownies, chocolate mousse brownies, and brookies.

But I also realized how stressful baking can be. I don’t believe the people who make it seem aesthetic on social media. Whenever I bake something, it’s like a hurricane hit my kitchen. Seriously, my counters are a mess. There’s batter pouring from my electric hand mixer, all-purpose flour flying everywhere, and eggshells scattered throughout my kitchen. Oh, and by the end of it, I have about a dozen dishes to wash (don’t ask me how).

Despite all of this, I still love baking. So when my brother suggested I sell my brownies, I thought hey why not. So I created a logo, came up with a business name, and got an Instagram page up and running. It’s been slow so far. I’ve only gotten a few orders, and I participated in one local market. My primary customers are really just my friends, but I don’t mind it so much.

I think the biggest problem is that I’m not so great at advertising. I’m bad at taking aesthetic pictures and making the brownies look especially appealing. And for some reason, I find it difficult to package the brownies. They’re surprisingly really messy.

So you still may be wondering why I even bothered starting this business in the first place. And it may sound a bit self-absorbed but I get an odd sense of satisfaction whenever someone tells me they like my brownies. A friend of mine literally said, “I want to marry you and your brownies.”

All jokes aside I wanted to start selling my brownies to learn how to run and operate a business, even if it is something as small as brownies.

It’s been a fun and exciting journey so far, so I’ve decided I’m going to keep on trying and keep on sharing my brownies with the world.

Subscribe now

I have lists for everything. Literally everything.

It is the only way I have some sense of organization and clarity in my life

If you open my Notes app you’ll see random to do lists and grocery lists. Seems normal right? But wait that’s not all

I have a bucket list of all the things I hope to accomplish in my life

I have a list of pick up lines and I’m hoping it helps me find the love of my life

I have a list of my favorite books, the ones that I stayed up reading late into the night, the ones that made me cry, and the ones that gave me such high standards in men

I have an endless list of movies and shows I need to watch

And an even longer list of books I need to read

I literally just started a list of different things I can write about for my Substack

Basically any type of list you can think of, I’ll probably have it

I’m wondering if I should actually share my lists on here. Share the crazy things I dream of doing. The random thoughts that pop into my mind in the middle of the night. Share the hilariously cringy pick up lines I’m waiting to use

Because maybe I don’t just make lists to stay organized

Maybe I make them to feel like I have some control of my life

And maybe that makes me a little crazy

But honestly I’m pretty okay with that

Honestly, most days I don’t fall asleep till midnight and don’t wake up until after 10 am. I wasn’t always like this though, back in my high school days I could wake up at 6 am and be fully ready to go.

Then the pandemic hit, and I was blindsided by the freedom of school being cancelled. I would stay awake for hours at night watching TV and playing games on my iPad. Since then my sleep schedule has gone completely off the rails and it’s been six years.

In college, I would spend the day procrastinating then pull all-nighters just to finish an assignment or study for an exam.

Other days, I stay up late just to enjoy the peace and quiet of the night. The world is silent and no one really expects anything from you.

Then there’s the nights I spend doom scrolling… watching random Instagram reels, liking anything that seems remotely funny, and ruining my sleep schedule even more. I’ve come to realize though, that the nights spent scrolling leave me feeling anxious and stressed out.

Even though I’m now an adult in my 20s my parents still get mad at me for sleeping and waking up so late. And honestly, they have every right to be.

This routine is destroying my life in more ways than one. So much potential gets wasted when I wake up late. It’s reached a point where it doesn’t even matter what time I wake up, I could wake up at 12 pm and still be exhausted and in a terrible mood. And by the end of the day I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything.

The only times I’d feel somewhat useful were the days when I had to wake up early for class and during the few short months when I was working part time. But even then I still wouldn’t be able to sleep early and some days I would ditch class just to avoid getting out of bed in the morning.

I’m sure many of us were like that. Ditching class to sleep in. At the time I found it funny and excused it as a part of the college experience. And yeah honestly it kinda is.

I kept telling myself that it’s fine if I miss just one day of class. But those “it’s fine” moments sometimes turned into weeks of missed classes.

Now that I think about it I really did miss out a lot on the days I didn’t go to class. Not just in terms of keeping up with class work, but I also missed out on so many potential memories. Like the random conversations with the strangers sitting next to me that could’ve turned into lifelong friends.

I’ve tried several tactics to fix my messed-up sleeping habits once and for all. I’ve tried keeping my phone across the room at night so I’d have to get out of bed to turn my alarm off. I figured if I’m getting out of bed, then I might as well just be up for the day. This lasted all of 3 days though…

Another tactic I tried was setting an alarm every five minutes. That didn’t work either. In fact, it left me in an even more sour mood since I’d have to keep hitting snooze each time until eventually, I had no more alarms set and I could return to a blissful sleep. Oh, and I can’t forget, some days I don’t even hear my alarm and it just keeps ringing, disturbing everyone else in the house but me.

Nothing seems to work.
Ironically, this whole thing just makes me feel even more exhausted.

My body clock hasn’t been normal in years and I’m afraid it never will be. It’s literally 3:23 am and as I write this, I know I won’t be waking up early. It’s technically already the next day so I guess we can’t count this as a complete failure.

I feel guilty about it though, if that makes it any better.

But despite the challenges I’m going to keep trying. Trying to become a normal functioning person who sleeps at a decent time and wakes up bright and early. I just can’t help it though, I’m a night person.

Today was definitely a fail day… but I’ll try again tomorrow.

I guess this is just a part of growing up, learning to break bad habits.

Question of the day: Does anyone else feel more at peace during late nights?

Why does this keep happening to me?

I am introduced to a guy
I talk to the guy
I’m interested
He seems interested

“Let’s talk on the phone.”

Okay finally I’ve been waiting for this

We talk
We laugh
I slowly fall

Slowly you disappear
The messages become less frequent
My hope begins to fade

I don’t understand
Why this keeps happening to me

How hard I try
How I wish for love

It hurts
I don’t deserve it
And it hurts

I don’t understand
Why this keeps happening to me

I don’t think I deserve it
But maybe I do

I’m not perfect
I’m not smart
I’m not beautiful
At least not in the way they want

But I still crave for true love

It hurts
It’s not fair
It makes me cry

I just want to find my person
And hold him close

Why is it so hard
Why must it take so long

They say don’t worry
It will happen on its own
Don’t push it

But how long do I wait
The clock is ticking
My happiness fades

I thought you were different
But clearly I was wrong

Maybe I’m overthinking it
But what else am I supposed to do

I keep waiting
I keep dreaming
And it’s all just a waste

Why do I bother
Why do I care so much
Why must I fall so easily

Why can’t I be like the others
Why can’t I find love more easily

It hurts

Watching other people find theirs
Why can’t I find mine?

Am I not worth it?

Perhaps

I keep checking my phone
Hoping for a message

Clearly I’m pathetic
Or maybe I’m just a girl
Craving to fall in love

I read about romance
My favorite type of book

They make me smile
And make me wish for the same type of love

I stay up all night
Wishing for the same type of love

Do these types of boys even exist in the world
Probably not

Just fictional characters
Leaving us girls with high standards

Pathetic, I know

And yet I still crave for the same type of love

Or maybe I was wrong
Maybe he does care about me
Maybe I overthink too much

Maybe he is the one for me
God I hope he is

He’s special
He’s sweet
He makes me smile

Dear God
Let him be the one for me

How controversial.

It can bring you up,
or it can tear you apart.
It can make you the happiest person in the world,
or it can make you feel like your heart has shattered
into a thousand little pieces.

Is it worth it?
I honestly can’t say.

I hope for a million things,
and I pray to God that I won’t be disappointed.
I hope for happiness,
I hope for true love,
I hope for a big family.
I hope for nights full of laughter,
surrounded by the people I love.

I don’t want to be disappointed.
I try to hang on to this slipping thread.

It’s funny how the world works
one minute you’re having the greatest day of your life,
and the next it falls apart and leaves you stranded.

And yet I can’t stop myself from hoping,
praying that one day it’ll work out
the way I always dreamed it would.

I hope I don’t fall down,
don’t let this break me apart.

Let my hopes become a reality.
Let me wake in the morning feeling a different feeling.
Let it all be worth it.

It doesn’t seem fair, does it?

To feel like you’re constantly losing,
no matter how hard you try,
you can’t seem to keep control.

How bitterly sweet is this feeling?
It can bring you peace,
or it can bring you torment.

I question,
which will it bring for me?

So why was I fired? Because they couldn’t afford to keep me on.

Now let me start from the beginning and tell you what really happened.

Turning the clock back to October of 2025, I was applying to dozens of jobs each day with no prospects. It was mentally exhausting. The constant rejection emails I got saying, “Thank you for your interest, but we’ve decided to move on with another candidate.” We’ve all been there, done that.

Well, after months of searching, I finally managed to get a position as an Office Assistant. Was this my dream job? Not really. But was I grateful for the opportunity? Absolutely.

Everything was going well, or so I thought. Since I was a full-time college student at the time, I could only work two days a week. Balancing classes with a job was tough, but I made the most of it.

I worked hard. Made sure to go above and beyond. I showed up to work each day with a smile on my face, ready to take on my daily tasks.

I handled office and administrative tasks, sterilized medical tools, and made sure things were running smoothly. Some parts of the job I enjoyed, others not so much (like having to take the trash out at the end of the day), but I accepted it as part of the job.

I was truly grateful for the experience. My tasks were manageable, my colleagues were friendly, and of course, I was finally earning an income.

Then one day, as I was sorting through patient files, my boss called me into her office. At first, I didn’t think much of it… until she told me I was fired effective immediately due to budget cuts. I was shocked and could feel the tears threatening to fall.

She said it didn’t have anything to do with my performance and that it was strictly a financial decision.

So why did that feel worse? If it was actually my fault, I think I would’ve understood more. But when it’s out of your control, it’s harder to process and cope with the frustration.

I couldn’t do anything about it. The decision was completely out of my hands.

You may be thinking it’s not a big deal. People lose their jobs all the time, and I know that’s true - I’ve seen it happen too. But when it happens to you, it really is such a disappointing feeling.

But since then, I’ve come to realize that some things just don’t work out, no matter how hard you may want them to.

This job was not the answer to my question, “What am I going to do for the rest of my life?” And losing it does not define my worth.

It’s just one piece of my journey - and a reminder that when one door closes, another one opens.

Question of the day: How do you cope when you lose something, even when it’s not your fault?

Sometimes I feel like I did. I had a really hard time choosing what I wanted to do. I could never make up my mind.

When I was a kid, I really wanted to be a teacher. Then I worked as a tutor at Kumon and realized I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would. I had a hard time connecting with the students. Most of the time they wouldn’t listen to me, and I could feel myself getting frustrated. I’d think to myself, “Why can’t they just calm down and finish their work?” That’s when I realized I just wasn’t as passionate about it as I thought I would be.

Later in life I wanted to be an ophthalmologist but I thought I wouldn’t be able to handle the pressures of medical school. I stress too much, worry about the most basic exams. There’s no way I could cope with the intensity of being a medical student.

There was even a point in my life when I wanted to be a lawyer. My sister once told me I’d be great at it and said I’ve always had a way of persuading people.

I went down the rabbit hole of watching the Depp vs. Heard trial and thought, “I could totally do this too.”

But again, a quiet part of me said, “You won’t be able to handle the pressure.” So once again I gave up on that dream.

In the end, I made the decision to study business administration. I truly had no idea which path I would take and I was running out of time. I started taking a couple of business courses just to get an idea of what was out there. And that was it for me. I thought, “Hey, this isn’t too bad. I’ll just stick with it.”

But even then, my mind kept going back to my old dreams. The dream of being a doctor or being a lawyer. The dreams I gave up on out of fear.

When I chose to stick with business administration, it was sort of a hasty decision. I just started classes and kept going without pausing to think, “Is this really what I want to do for the rest of my life?”

Then came the time to choose a concentration. All business students had to choose one at my university. My options were finance, accounting, marketing, supply chain, business analytics, or information systems.

I was overwhelmed by the choices.

What should I do?

Should I do marketing?

Should I go into finance?

Should I just change my major?

How do I make this decision?

This time I told myself I wouldn’t make a decision out of fear. I had made it this far in my journey toward getting a degree in business, and I was going to choose a concentration that I would actually enjoy and could see myself making a career out of.

So I did my research and reached out to other students and professionals.

But I still couldn’t make up my mind.

As the deadline to declare my concentration was quickly approaching, I found myself staring at my options on the screen and repeating them back to myself:

Finance.

Accounting.

Marketing.

Supply chain.

Business analytics.

Information systems.

Somehow I thought listing my options like that would help.

What do I do?

I’m stuck.

Then finally, I said to myself, “Just choose the one that genuinely interests you and don’t worry about anything else.”

And in the end, I chose information systems.

At the time I felt an odd sense of relief knowing I had finally made a decision. But as the days went on, my mind kept thinking, what if I made the wrong choice?

But again, I stuck with it. And it turns out I really did enjoy my classes.

I really thought that knowing my major and concentration would give me a clearer picture of my life. But truthfully, I’m still unsure. I keep asking myself if I wasn’t so afraid of stepping out of my comfort zone and following my dreams, would I be a different person? Would I be happier?

I still don’t know.

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe I don’t need to have all the answers right now.

I just have to keep going and trust that one day I’ll figure it out.

Question of the day: If fear wasn’t a factor, would you choose a different path in life?

For the longest time, graduating was the goal.

A realistic finish line - one that I could pour all of my energy into.

And now it’s done.

It should feel like a celebration, but instead it feels empty.

What am I supposed to do now?

Am I supposed to just get a job and work for the next 40+ years of my life?

At least that’s what everyone expects me to do. But that’s so much easier said than done. Especially with the current state of the world. I mean, have you seen these gas prices? Just the idea of commuting to work stresses me out.

It’s simple, really.

I don’t want to spend my days working a 9 to 5.

I don’t want to climb the corporate ladder.

I don’t want to sit in a stuffy office staring at a screen for hours at a time.

No, I want to do something different.

I want to create something meaningful.

I want to build something for myself.

Something that I can put all my focus and energy into. Something I can be both passionate about and proud of.

For the longest time, I was afraid of sharing my writing. The vulnerable parts of my mind. The secrets I hide away from the rest of the world. My writing has always been deeply personal, a reflection of who I am and a look into my soul.

I once told an old friend of mine that one of my biggest goals in life is to write and publish a book. And he told me, if you don’t let people read what you write, then how will you ever get there? And he’s right.

That’s why I’m starting this Substack. So I can share my inner thoughts with the rest of the world. So I can connect with others who, like me, feel out of place.

I am on a journey of self-discovery. I don’t know what I’m going to do for the rest of my life, and at times it terrifies me. But I’m learning to take things one step at a time. To not be so afraid of trying new things. And to stop comparing myself to others.

Again, this is much easier said than done. In a lot of my writing, you may notice me comparing myself to others, wishing my life were more structured. But these are the pieces of me that I’m trying to figure out.

So no, I don’t have my whole life together. But I’m getting there slowly.

So join me as I slowly try to put the pieces of this puzzle together.

The puzzle being my life.